


like real people do

by stupidgaytree



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Minor panic attack, POV Alternating, Possession, adhd sloane, cant thin kof any more tags whoops, could also be interpreted as autistic sloane, dont worry they get better. you dont see it but canonically? immortal gays, gotta do all the fuckin work around here, i had to make that friendship tag myself. youve all disappointed me, is there a mlm wlw solidarity tag, just a little bit, minor non graphic eye trauma near the end, mlm/wlw solidarity, that would be some good old fashioned projection lads!, there is not. this is equally disappointing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 21:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidgaytree/pseuds/stupidgaytree
Summary: The Raven and the Ram — no one knows who they really were.(Lieutenant Hurley and Sloane the thief. Everyone knew, for a little bit.)Or if they were real.(Real as the prick of a thorn or the ghost of a kiss, and oh, did they live.)Urban legends, really. That’s all.





	like real people do

_The legends say the Raven and the Ram began as enemies — cop and robber, cat and mouse. That the Raven laughed as she ran, and it struck a chord somewhere in the heart of the Ram. It became a competition, a game. The first time the Ram caught the Raven, the Raven escaped._

 

***

 

Sloane can hear the cop’s footsteps pounding a rhythm on the cobbled street — _thud_ , _thud_ , _thud_ , a splash and a curse as she steps in a puddle Sloane neatly jumped over seconds ago, then the rhythm picks up again, a little faster. Sloane can’t help a breathless laugh as she makes a turn at the last second, gripping the corner of a building hard as she swings herself around with maybe more flair than necessary.

  
“You can’t just run forever!” the cop yells, and Sloane grins under her mask, the edges knocking against her jaw as she wheels suddenly to face her. She expects the cop to stop in her tracks to avoid crashing into her, so it’s an unfortunate surprise when she keeps running and slams into her with a lot more force than Sloane was prepared for. Sloane wheezes as she hits the ground hard, scrambling to keep her mask on, the air driven out of her by the apparently very strong and determined halfling woman now pinning her down.

  
She can see the cop grinning in the light of a nearby street-lantern, curly hair in disarray and brown eyes glinting triumphantly. A militia badge is pinned to her shirt, which as far as Sloane can tell is some kind of gi, although the sleeves are missing. It provides a nice view of her arms, which are, frankly, utterly fucking _shredded_.

  
When Sloane drags her eyes back up to the cop’s face, she’s looking at her expectantly, smugness starting to fade to impatience. “Uh,” Sloane says, “What?”

  
“I said,” the cop repeats, “ _Gotcha_.”

  
“Damn. Sure did. Is that it? Can I leave now?”

  
“What — _no?_ You’re the Raven. You’ve committed tons of petty theft just in the last two months, and you’re a major competitor in the battlewagon races. I’ve been chasing you for months.” She looks offended by the very suggestion, and Sloane finds herself smiling again.

  
“Oh, are you a fan? Seen all the recent races, have you?”

  
“Shit. No,” she objects quickly as Sloane bursts into laughter, throwing her head back against the pavement, “No, I have not, you’re — you’re a big name, alright? You’re well-known! Stop —” Sloane raises her head, still giggling, to see her mouth twisted in a scowl as she says, “Stop fucking laughing! I caught you!”

  
“Oh, I can’t fault you for it,” Sloane says, adding a wink as she continues, “I draw a lot of eyes.”

  
“Oh, I bet you do,” the cop mumbles, just loud enough for Sloane to hear. She pulls a pair of handcuffs from her belt, and Sloane takes the opportunity to deliver a solid smack to her wrist, startling her into dropping them. She quickly sits up as much as she can and shoves against the halfling’s collarbone, pushing her off her hips and nearly knocking her to the ground. Sloane jumps up and takes off, heading for the first building she sees that features a ladder to the roof.

  
“Hey!” yells the cop as Sloane scales halfway up the side of a crumbling building, and Sloane hears the rhythm again. She makes it the rest of the way up as fast as she dares, which is pretty damn fast, the rungs shaking beneath her until she pulls herself onto the roof. She scans her surroundings only long enough to hear the cop start to climb, then runs full speed towards the edge of the roof. She jumps off just as a shout of “Are you fucking insane?” comes from behind her, and she thinks that the woman climbs damn fast for someone maybe three and a half feet tall before she’s falling forward through the air, wind rushing past her face as she reaches to grab the edge of the roof on the other side of the alley.

  
She barely catches it, and it creaks under her hands as she pulls herself up and keeps running, jumping from roof to roof and never looking back, certain that she left the cop behind as she whoops and laughs into the otherwise still night air.

 

***

 

_Every time the Raven slipped away, laughing the whole time. It stopped being an escape at some point — the Ram began letting her go, grinning at her back without a thought. She let her go again and again, watched her at the races. And then —_

 

***

 

The second the race is over, Hurley pushes through the crowd and makes a beeline for the Raven, who, of course, won. The woman turns in time to stare right over Hurley’s head before her gaze drops. She tilts her head, and after a few moments of them staring at each other, says, “Can I help you?”

  
“You don’t recognize me?” Hurley says, a weird twinge in her gut, but the second the Raven seems to process the words her eyes brighten with recognition behind the mask.

  
“Oh, it’s you. Hey, you got a mask on, alright? Never caught your name, by the way.”

  
She jumps from subject to subject so quick that Hurley thinks she might get whiplash for a second. “That’s because I never told it to you.”

  
“Oh, I guess you didn’t. Weird.” Her ears twitch as she turns away. “Anyways, I gotta get outta here, so unless you’ve devised a plan to arrest me at the super-illegal battlewagon races that you definitely don’t regularly attend, bye.”

  
Hurley grabs for her sleeve. “Wait — wait.”

  
“What?” She turns just enough to look down at Hurley again, and Hurley hesitates.

  
“You were right,” she says finally, “A while ago, I mean. I think these races look fucking rad. And, I mean, I guess now you know that, so you have kind of an upper hand and if I arrest you we both get into some shit.”

  
She sees the Raven’s eyes light up under the mask. “Oh? And what are you suggesting?”

  
“Damn, you catch on quick.” Hurley doesn’t mean to smile, but maybe the Raven can’t see it. She sticks out her hand. “I’m Lieutenant Hurley. And,” she hesitates, then plows forward, “I think you might need a partner.”

 

***

 

_The Ram seemed to be made for the track — for the exhilaration, the blood roaring in her ears, for the Raven’s wild laughter cutting knife-like through the dust they kicked up. She pulled them to first place one, two, four, eight, twelve times, and though the Raven had already been a champion, this seemed a sweeter victory._

 

***

 

“Hurley, holy shit!” Sloane yells. She’s gripping Hurley’s shoulder hard, heart pounding in her throat like always, grin pulling at Hurley’s cheeks like always, and Hurley swats her gently.

  
“Ram,” she hisses, jerking her head towards the crowd outside, but her eyes are warm and sparking behind her mask and Sloane can feel her trembling. “Gods, that was close. That was a close one.”

  
“But we fuckin’ did it! You were amazing!” Sloane throws her hands up in the air and pumps an arm in triumph. “Holy fuck, I could kiss you!”

  
The smile drops off Hurley’s face almost immediately, and she turns away. Sloane feels her heart freeze in her throat. “I — fuck, that’s — I’m sorry —”

  
“Do you mean it?”

  
Sloane blinks. “What — what? Do I —”

  
“Do you mean it?” Hurley repeats. Her voice is a little too high, a little shaky.

  
“I — I — I would — I would kiss a lot of people, um — but —” Sloane manages, but whatever expression was on Hurley’s face disappears with her smile. And, fuck, that _sucks_ to see.

  
“Forget it,” Hurley mutters. And _that_ sucks to _hear_.

  
“No, Hurley —” She catches sight of people approaching the battlewagon with trophies and prize gold, and has it only been that long? It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, but this drags in Sloane’s chest like it’s been a hundred years.

  
“Hurley, start the wagon,” she says suddenly, because fuck this, she wants to say something and she’s not letting anyone interrupt her. Hurley stares at her like she’s grown an extra head.

 

“What? Sloane, the gold —”

  
“I’ll — it doesn’t matter, I’ll steal it later, just go!”

  
“But —”

  
“Please,” Sloane says, and Hurley slams hard on the pedals.

  
They launch forward, and Sloane hears people yelling as they careen off the track and back towards the city. She pricks her ears for the telltale thuds of bodies against the wheels and relaxes a little when they clear the area with no casualties.

  
They’re back at the garage faster than Sloane expected, and she all but kicks open the door on her side and drags Hurley out with her. Which, as it turns out, is easier said than done, because what Hurley lacks in height she makes up for in sturdiness. “Sloane —”

  
“Inside. Please, Hurls. I promise it’s probably definitely good.”

  
Hurley seems to wilt a little bit at that, and while she wrenches her hand from Sloane’s grip, she does keep pace with Sloane into the small house connected to the garage.

  
It’s certainly nothing special at a glance — Sloane had found it abandoned except for some rats and quickly laid claim to it, which she considers lucky as hell. She doesn’t keep a lot of personal effects, either, mostly just her clothes and a cot and whatever food she manages to get for herself. There’s a hole in one wall that wasn’t there one night and appeared the next, but Sloane has filed that away into her mysteries-for-another-time mental notes. Otherwise, it’s… just a house.

  
Hurley looks around curiously as they enter, and Sloane remembers she hasn’t really been in here before. She spreads her arms in mock welcome. “Welcome… to the Raven’s Nest,” she declares, and Hurley snorts.

  
“Uh, so.” Sloane drops the smile as she remembers the entire point of them being here. “Oh, gods, okay. Um. Hm. Well, I didn’t think this through.” She taps her chin, avoiding Hurley’s gaze, mentally scrambling for a good way to say what she wants to say.

  
She hears Hurley sigh. “Is it about the kissing thing? Because really, we can just forget it, it’s —”

  
“No!” Sloane cringes at the volume of her own voice and tries again. “No, I don’t want to forget it. Nothing even happened! Nothing — happened, but.” She clenches her jaw, rubbing at her neck as she stares at the ceiling.

  
“Do — do you want something to happen?” Hurley asks, after maybe, what, five seconds? Ten? Sloane wants to pay attention to everything but time passing, but she notes it anyways. She feels her skin flush and isn’t sure how she feels about it.  
“I — yeah, I — alright, I mean it when I say you’re fuckin’ incredible, y’know? You — you’re just —” She gives up and finally looks back at Hurley.

  
Hurley is staring at her again, but this time a little less of ‘did you hit your head without telling me?’ and a little more ‘I almost just died but I didn’t,’ which is a little concerning in the current context.

  
“Sorry,” is the first thing Sloane thinks to say.

  
“What,” Hurley says.

  
“I don’t know.” Sloane blinks hard and bites back the tremble in her voice because no, fuck this, she’s _not_ crying right now, it’s fine, “I don’t know, it’s — stupid, forget it, you were right —”

  
“Sloane — Sloane, hey, c’mon.” Hurley catches Sloane’s hand as she starts to turn away and she stills, the need to get away buzzing under her skin and making her dizzy and she needs to _move_ —

  
“Sloane, it’s not stupid, alright?” She can see a weak smile on Hurley’s face out of the corner of her eye. “It’s not. You aren’t either. You —” she stops, ears twitching and eyes on the ground, brow furrowed. Then she looks up again, and her _expression_. It looks like a drawing in some novel at the scene of a love confession, all soft eyes and a hint of apprehension. And a resigned smile, but that part — that part is Hurley. That part is Hurley the day before the first race, it’s Hurley all the times Sloane made a stupid pun, it’s Hurley, and when she looks, so are the soft eyes — when Sloane was dozing off while they worked on the wagon, when Sloane was telling her at near midnight about all the shitty bars in the city, when Sloane laughed in delight at the sight of a raven perched on a lantern.

  
“This feels like a shitty romance novel,” Sloane blurts. Hurley blinks up at her, then bursts into laughter, and that’s familiar too. Sloane’s halfway between sobbing and laughing with her.

  
“Shitty romance novel, huh?” Hurley gasps, “Is it too cheesy if I wanna kiss you?”

  
“Yeah,” Sloane says, and then she drops to sit on her ankles and cups Hurley’s face in her hands.

  
Their lips meet in the middle, and it tastes like salt and a little bit of sweat — gross — and they’re both still smiling too much for it to have any semblance of coordination, but it’s better than Sloane ever expected.

  
She hopes, briefly, childishly, that this never ends.

 

***

 

_But power is nearly as potent a poison as silverpoint, and the Raven discovered an artifact with a great deal of it. It leeched into her mind and heart, and she grew cold and single-minded, even to the Ram. Most of the time._

 

***

 

“Sloane, what the fuck?” Hurley’s mask clatters against the table when she tosses it aside — she doesn’t care. Sloane still hasn’t taken hers off.

  
“They were in the way.”

  
“People died, Sloane! You —” She hates the words that simmer on her tongue, because they can’t be true. Sloane couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Her eyes fall again to the sash tied around her waist and her mouth goes bitter. It doesn’t even look good.

  
“I what?” Sloane asks, and her voice is flat. She hasn’t turned to look at Hurley since they walked in.

  
“We — we agreed, Sloane! Nobody dies when we’re racing! We made that fucking choice!” She slams her hand down on the table. Sloane doesn’t even flinch.

  
“Would you rather we lose?”

  
Hurley can only stare at her for a few moments. “What kind of — yes, Sloane! Gods, can you imagine dying like that? You fucking buried them!”

  
“It doesn’t matter.”

  
“I’m sorry?”

  
Sloane turns to look at her then, cocks her head in a way that is not Sloane at all. “It’s done with. They’re dead, we won. Too bad.”

  
“Too bad?” Hurley repeats. She feels sick. She’s revisiting every moment in her head when Sloane acted like this and there’s too many. Ever since she brought home that fucking belt. “Sloane, can you — why haven’t you taken off that sash?”

  
Sloane recoils. “I need it.”

  
“For what, Sloane? What the fuck do you need a — a fucking eldritch plant belt for?”

  
Something flashes in Sloane’s eyes that looks like confusion, and maybe fear. Hurley’s heart leaps into her throat, but crashes back down when she says, “I won’t. Take it off.”

  
“Why the —”

  
“I can’t, alright?” Emotion is leaking back into Sloane’s words, panicky and frustrated. “I need it! I need the — the power, don’t you get it, I can make them see! I can show them how fucked the world is when you don’t have everything, because — because the power, I have the power to take it all away! And, and — and I just, I have to!”

  
“No, Sloane —”

  
“Listen, even if I could, I still couldn’t, it — gods, Hurley, it’s such an opportunity!” There’s a glint in her eyes now that Hurley never wants to see again. “I — I can’t take it off, I can’t, it won’t — I have to do it, they deserve it!”

  
“You can’t take it off?” Hurley asks, and whatever has taken hold of Sloane seems to melt away, just a little, just for a second.

  
“It’s so fucking strong, Hurley,” Sloane whispers, “There’s nothing — nothing stronger, and I have it.” A note of pride reenters her voice before it drops again.

  
“Something stronger,” she muses, and for the first time in what could be weeks she locks eyes with Hurley.

  
“Something stronger,” she repeats.

  
Later that night, Hurley slinks out of the garage with what little she kept at Sloane’s house and makes her way back to her apartment. All she sees is Sloane’s eyes, wild and wide and so very not Sloane.

  
The Ram stops appearing in races, and the death toll ramps up. Or it would, if there were legal record of it. Hurley stops listening to the news but for snippets here and there, so she hears through word of mouth that the Raven is claiming herself a god — undefeatable and unkillable.

  
_Something stronger._

  
And suddenly, for the first time in a month, she has a plan.

 

***

 

_Three adventurers came to Goldcliffe soon afterwards. The Bear, the Owl, and the Mongoose found the Raven stealing from the city’s great treasury and tried to stop her, but she had become too powerful, and the trio nearly died at her hands. The Ram appeared then, at the last moment. She called out to the Raven — and the Raven fled._

 

***

 

Hurley shouldn’t have been there. Why was she there? Sloane couldn’t think of a reason. She couldn’t think of a name, for a few moments. Why had there been a cop?

  
To stop them. To save those adventurers. Dimly, she hoped Hurley had gotten them out alright. And there — there was that name again. How did she forget it? Hurley, Hurley, _Hurley_ , Lieutenant Hurley, the cop, the Ram, but not anymore, right? The Ram had left. The Ram had been scared, or angry. Why had she come back? Why had she gotten in the way?

  
Sloane thought they had been making it clear — people who got in the way would be killed. She didn’t have time to make sure anyone was okay or pass out bandages to whoever was dumb enough not to listen, not with that fucking voice, that fucking belt whispering in her brain. _They don’t matter,_ it murmurs, and Sloane wants to shut it out but she can’t, it’s helping her, right? They’re gonna make people see. She doesn’t have the time to soften her blows when she’s pretty sure that whatever this is is killing her from the inside out. She doesn’t have time.

  
She realizes that her nails are digging into her palms and raises them to eye level. Blood beads in the indentations, but she can’t find the willpower to care about it. It barely hurts anyways. Instead she trails a hand along the stone beneath her, watching as it begins to groan and shift, twisting and melting into something else entirely. She realizes belatedly that if she stays too long here, she might turn to wood too, and the voice in her head mumbling about infinite power and life drowns out any further thoughts about that as she jumps down.

  
Thoughts of the events from earlier have faded from her mind. Her heartbeat has slowed again, back to the crawl that it has been at for a while now. She doesn’t remember exactly when it changed. She doesn’t really care.

  
The only substantial thing on her mind as she disappears down the alley is the vague shape of a face she can’t quite identify.

 

***

 

_The four of them, the Ram and the trio, came to an agreement. They both wanted the Raven stopped, so they devised their plan — to defeat her in a battlewagon race, and prove there was something stronger than her._

 

***

 

“Heya, Hurls.” Hurley stiffens at the nickname, but the voice is unmistakable as Taako flops down next to her. He stretches, not unlike a cat, ears twitching lazily as he peers at her from the corner of his eye. “What’cha workin on now?”

  
Hurley starts to tell him to go sleep, but remembers that elves don’t really _do_ sleep, so she shrugs and gestures to the wagon. “Just some last minute checks.”

  
He looks at her for another few minutes, then casts his gaze over the vehicle. “Looks, uh, looks alright to me.”

  
“There’s a lot of internal stuff, but — but yeah, it’s probably — you’re probably right.” There’s a deep-seated ache in Hurley’s back and neck and basically everywhere else from the days work, and she rolls her shoulders a few times with a sigh.

  
“Always am.” He grins slyly at her and then closes his eyes, leaning back on his elbows. “Really, though — we’re gonna — gonna crush the race tomorrow, bubbeleh. Don’t even — don’t even worry about it.” He chuckles, and Hurley manages a smile in return before realizing he can’t see it. “Thanks, Taako.”

  
He hums in response, and Hurley turns her gaze back to the wagon. There’s a flicker of pride — she built most of it herself, but it’s quickly pushed down by that ache, this time somewhere in her chest. She shouldn’t have needed to. Sloane should be here.

  
“Y’alright?” Taako asks suddenly. Hurley blinks back at him in surprise. The three of them had kind of struck her as a group of low-impulse, carefree pals, probably guns-for-hire, but she figures that those aren’t mutually exclusive with observant. Out of all of them, though, she didn’t expect Taako to give a shit. She realizes after a second of staring that Taako probably expects a reply, and scrambles to collect her thoughts.

 

“I, uh,” she starts, “It’s just. I don’t know, it’s — it’s been a long… month? Yeah, I think — yeah, a month.”

  
He eyes her for a moment. Then, “You were — you said you were, uh, partners, huh?”

  
“What — oh. Yeah, we were.” Suddenly there’s a lump in her throat, and she looks away. It’s a weak description for what she and Sloane had, but not — not a lie. She doesn’t need the incessant teasing right now that the boys would probably give her if she told them she and Sloane had been dating.

  
Taako snorts. “So, what — was that, like, separate from the seducing thing, or —”

  
“Oh — gods, I thought that flew over your heads —”

  
He really laughs this time, a weird hiccupy giggle. “Oh, don’t — don’t worry about it. Taako’s gotcha covered.” He winks and sits up. “Those boneheads probably didn’t get it. They’re, uh — a few, few mites stupider than yours truly, but —” Taako shrugs.

  
“Yeah, well.” Hurley can still feel her ears burning, but she relaxes a little. There’s a lapse of silence until Taako speaks again.

  
“You miss her?”

  
Hurley lets out a long breath. “Yeah,” she says softly, “But — but I’m gonna get her back. Whatever it takes, except probably murder.”

  
“That’s the spirit. Hell yeah.” Taako sighs. “Must be, uh, must be nice to have someone who’s always got your back.”

  
“Do you not?” Hurley asks. Something flickers in Taako’s expression, but it disappears just as quickly. He laughs.

  
“Nah, not — not really. Can’t trust these losers with anything. No family to, uh, to speak of. No desirable dudes, which is the real loss.” Hurley notes suddenly that he has his umbrella clutched in one hand, twirling the handle. “I’m alright, though. Taako’s good.”

  
Hurley’s not sure what she expected, honestly. But she shrugs it off and pats the wagon wheel. “Big day.”

  
“No shit. You should, uh, sleep. Halflings do that, right?” Hurley rolls her eyes and moves to give him a shove. “Hey, it’s — it’s a reasonable question! If you weren’t being all dramatic over here, I’d — I’d be in a trance right now. That’s how you know it’s, uh, it’s important, ‘cause the dumbass is doin’ it.”

  
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

  
Taako squints at her for a few moments more before turning away, muttering about falling asleep at the wheel. Hurley watches him go and casts a last glance over the battlewagon before following.

 

***

 

_The day of the race came, and what a race it was! Some called it luck or determination when the four of them pulled ahead of the Raven and won the race. Some hissed under their breath of cheating, for the tricks the Mongoose had pulled and their sudden ally in a bugbear — although all is fair in a battlewagon race. The four of them were celebrating their victory when the Raven rushed by them, driving straight off the cliff and disappearing into a cloud that manifested at her command. In a panic, the Ram insisted they follow, and they left the race behind to chase after her._

 

***

 

No, no, no, no, _no, no, no_ —

  
She lost, she lost — that’s it, that’s the end —

  
All she can see is Hurley’s eyes behind the mask and all she can hear is Hurley’s laughter and her own too, and all she feels is the motorcycle revving below her and her own body trembling and the horrible, sickening rage that leaks from the sash and into her own brain, and then all that’s below her is air and she hears a scream above the wind and then —

 

***

 

_The Raven was gone. In her place was something with blank eyes and a flat voice and vines twisting ‘round its ankles. The four railed against it, with fire and blade, but it remained, and it laughed at them. The Ram saw the gathering storm and decided — if anyone was to die, it would not be these three, and she tricked them into leaving. And then she looked at what had been the Raven, and made another decision — whatever happened, she was worth it._

 

***

 

They would be fine. She’d given Taako her harness, and maybe the wind would show a little compassion. She can’t hear anything but the wind and the creaking of vines now, as she turns to look at the tangle of green and black.

  
She closes her eyes, inhales, and takes off running.

  
Almost immediately, vines rip at her skin, tearing gashes into it. She feels the blood start gushing but ignores it. She ignores the thorns digging into her palms when she hits the fucking — fucking cocoon in the epicenter, and ignores everything but the energy thrumming through her body, the pressure in her chest and pricking at her eyes and then Sloane’s face.

  
“Let her go,” she snarls, and grabs for Sloane’s arm.

 

***

 

_It’s anyone’s guess how the Ram saved the Raven. But every story ends the same —_

 

***

 

Sloane opens her eyes to a clear sky above her. She blinks, memories foggy for a moment, and then she sits up.

  
The sash. The race, the adventurers — _Hurley_ , where’s —

  
She’s in a pool of water in the middle of Goldcliffe, and Hurley is there too.

  
She’s frozen for a second. Everything seems to drain out of her at once until there’s only her own blurry vision and the water around her and the rest is just empty.

  
Then Hurley shifts, almost imperceptibly, and Sloane rushes towards her, lifts her gently as she can manage onto her lap, and stares.

  
There are thorns still embedded in her arms, her shoulders, one in her jaw, and they crumble away when Sloane reaches to touch them. From the wounds, she can see in horrible clarity the dark — poison, it has to be — creeping up Hurley’s veins. She recognizes it after a few moments, because she’d seen it dripping off other vines she’d summoned. Silverpoint. From _her_.

  
The sob that bursts from her chest rocks her body, and she curls over Hurley while she cries. Her mother would have called it crying her heart out, but bitterly she wonders what there is to cry out. Her heart is dying in her arms.

  
Once there are no tears left to shed, she tries to do… something. She did this, she should be able to fix it, but — the voice of the sash has gone silent. No more power buzzes in the back of her mind. So she cries again, whispering, _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,”_ and, _“Please stay, please stay with me, Hurls, please don’t die,”_ and, _“I love you, I love you, I didn’t say it enough but I love you.”_

  
After a while, she looks up to see the three adventurers approaching. They all look dumbstruck, but the elf’s expression also includes something… else. He’s more upset than the others, anyways.

  
Their footsteps disturb the water, and Sloane’s attention is drawn again to Hurley as she coughs against her chest. Sloane stares at her, at a loss for words at last, until Hurley stops and slowly, painfully looks up to meet her gaze. A tiny smile appears on her face.

  
“You’re in trouble,” she sing-songs, her voice rasping from her lungs with her breath.

  
Her eyes are still warm, even bloodshot and pained, and Sloane’s entire chest hurts.

  
“This entire time, I was looking for something stronger than this _fucking_ belt,” she says, and then, “I’m such a fool.”

  
Hurley laughs a little at that. “Yeah,” she mumbles.

  
“Don’t you have any magics?” the elf sputters, turning to the dwarf. “You’re a cleric, for crying out loud!”

  
_“Me?”_ the dwarf responds. Sloane shakes her head.

  
“This is — the venom of silverpoint is…” she swallows. “There’s nothing we can do for her.”

  
“Horseshit!” the elf spits, just as a vague memory comes back to Sloane.

  
“Well, there’s —” she starts, but the elf interrupts.

  
“Hoooooooorseee- _shit!”_ he yells. His companions give him light nudges and he quiets, but he stares at Hurley with what looks like frustration and grief.

  
“There’s one thing I can do for her,” Sloane says, and looks down at Hurley. She sees the belt out the corner of her eye. It’s a long shot, maybe, but better than dying slowly in a puddle. She leans down to Hurley.

  
“Hey,” she whispers, “I think… I can kind of fix this. Trust me, please, okay? Nothing’s ever gonna happen to us again.”

  
Hurley opens her eyes again, and Sloane feels almost sick. Her gaze is unfocused, unseeing, the brown of her eyes disappearing as the poison’s effects progress. Nonetheless, Hurley seems to understand, and she replies, “Yeah, I think that’d be alright.”

  
Sloane looks back up at the three of them. “I wanna thank you for everything you’ve done, but I — I have one last request for you.”

  
The human groans. Sloane ignores him. “Is there anything else in the world… that’s as powerful as this belt?”

  
The moment she says it, it seems to jump to life again. Sloane grits her teeth and tries to channel it, tells the voice to fuck off and leave her alone for a second. The trio look at each other.

  
“Yeah,” says the elf after a moment.

  
“Yes.”

  
“Uh-huh.”

  
“There’re fewer,” the elf offers.

  
Sloane looks up at the three of them, then back down at Hurley.

  
“Don’t let this happen again,” she says.

  
She holds tight —

  
And lets go.

 

***

 

_With the Ram dying in her love’s arms, veins pumping poison while their skin turns to bark._

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr !! i dont bite i promise  
> @almidots / @hiwrighter


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